


It's 3 a.m. I must be lonely

by Ediblecrayon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediblecrayon/pseuds/Ediblecrayon
Summary: It's too damn early for this.In which Sam serves as life coach to a pair of super serumed idiots.





	It's 3 a.m. I must be lonely

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to a five hundred word drabble goddammit.

_It’s too damn early for this._

Sam huddles around his cup and glares petulantly at Barnes across the table. It’s three in the morning on a goddamn _Sunday,_ and they’re in the back of some twenty-four hour hole-in-the-wall coffee house. For what reason, he doesn’t know, only that Barnes had called him and hesitantly asked if they could meet. Things are still a bit awkward between them since the Triskelion, but Sam’s willing to let bygones be bygones just this once. It’s not like the dude asked to be tortured and brainwashed for seven decades. 

That didn’t stop him from being surprised when he received the phone call. Or any less cranky. Sam’s all for morning hours, but it’s _Sunday_ goddammit, day of rest and all that. But Sam fought a war too, and he knows what it’s like to be plagued by ghosts at night. Even without the shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his skin, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Barnes doesn’t sleep much. So Sam had bitched and moaned and grit his teeth, and then proceeded to bundle into some comfortable clothes and head out to meet Barnes. 

Sam had deliberately picked this location, even though it’s a bit of a trek and there are at least three other places they could have gone to. Sure, the coffee and pastries are good, but it’s also spacious and quiet, and when he sees Barnes shoulders relax a fraction as they take a table in the back, he knows he’s made a good call. The guy doesn’t talk much to anyone who isn’t Steve, and the fact that he’s willing to confide in Sam makes him feel a bit honored.

Still. _Sunday._ Never let it be said that Sam Wilson isn’t an actual angel from heaven. Or as Natasha likes to call him, a “precious cinnamon roll.”

Barnes opens his mouth to speak, closes it, frowns. Sam subtly nudges the plate of baked goods towards him, giving him time to collect himself. Barnes selects a cheese Danish, prodding it with his fork before glancing up at Sam with a nervous expression.

“I know it’s early,” he rasps out, spearing a piece of Danish, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes I keep getting flashes of things. I’m not sure whether something’s real or made up in my head.”

Sam nods in sympathy, sipping his caramel praline. “Nightmares?”

“Sometimes. That’s all it was, at first. Not so much anymore.” Barnes chews his Danish slowly, staring at his fork like it holds all the answers he’s looking for. “Now it’s stuff about me and Steve, back in the day. Sometimes they’re dreams, sometimes just memories.” He gnaws on his lip. “I think they’re memories. I don’t really know anymore. It’s probably just me being a--a--pervert.”

Sam’s eyebrows bunch together. “What makes you say that? If you’re talking about sexual stuff that’s perfectly natural, man.”  
Barnes shakes his head furiously, stabbing his fork into his Danish and clutching his coffee cup like a lifeline. “Not this. Not when it’s about Steve.” And that’s just confusing, because what does Steve have to do with--

Oh. _Oh._

“Was it always like this?” Sam asks gently. “Or did you just recently start to develop feelings for him?”

“I think...it was always like this. Some of it’s from when Steve was still small, some of it during the war. It feels so real. And then sometimes I have dreams about us now, and we’ve never been like that before.”

“Were you together back then?” Sam asks, making sure to keep his voice pitched low and soothing. ”Maybe it feels real because they’re memories.”

Barnes’s hands are shaking as he sips his coffee. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “I know he loved Peggy, probably would’a married her if things had gone differently. I think--I think, maybe I loved him though. Kinda makes sense, apart from my ma and sisters Stevie’s always been the most important thing to me.” His eyes go distant for a moment. “That night we saw Peggy in the bar--I hated it, seeing him look at her like that. I wanted to hate her too, but I couldn’t. She was  
too good of a person, and Steve deserved to have that.” 

And in that moment, Sam finally sees him. Not the asset or the sergeant, but that poor city kid who’s been through hell and back; cracked and jaded but still holding on to whatever pieces he has left. And Sam’s willing to bet the majority of those pieces involved a blond haired reckless idiot.

“Barnes,” Sam shakes his head, “Man, why haven’t you talked to him about this?” 

It’s not his place to say, but Sam’s seen the way Steve gets when he talks about their time in the forties, the war, how his eyes light up at all those fond memories. He’s seen the haunted look in Steve’s eyes back in DC, how he’d shut down every time they got a lead on Barnes that didn’t pan out. How tightly Steve clung to Barnes when he’d finally shown up on his doorstep, how even now he still watches him like he’s afraid Barnes will take off again.

Sam’s no expert, but he knows love when he sees it.

Barnes-- _Bucky,_ goes back to poking at his Danish. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet and dejected. “I think he has feelings for Agent Carter.”

Sam’s brain spins for a moment in confusion before it clicks. “Sharon?”

Bucky jerks his head in affirmation. 

And, okay, Sam can see why the guy would think that. Steve and Sharon have gotten pretty close over the past few months. She’s one of the few people Steve genuinely smiles around, and that list is pretty damn short. He makes her laugh, and she drags him out shopping with her and Nat, and it’s been good for both of them. For Steve.

Ah _shit._

“Shit,” Sam echoes aloud. “Are you sure?”

The withering glare he receives in return could shatter glass.

“I’m sorry man,” Sam offers, and he truly means it. He slides the plate of remaining pastries across the table. It’s not much, but Bucky gives him a brief twitch of the lips and Sam counts it as a win.

They finish their coffee and pastries in silence, and Sam finds he doesn’t mind at all.

* * *  
The following week it’s Sam who has a bad night, his head filled with screams and the sight of Riley’s broken body. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he shoots off a text asking Bucky if he wants meet up again. They find themselves at the same coffee shop, and by the time they leave several hours later some of the weight has eased from Sam’s shoulders.

It becomes something of an unsaid routine after that, both of them meeting at ass o’clock on Sunday morning for coffee and cronuts. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. It’s not much at all, but it’s been good for both of them. A safe spot for them to leave shake off their issues and watch them drift away, swallowed up by flaking dough and coffee grinds.

They never talk about it after; what happens at coffee time stays at coffee time. But Sam feels lighter than he has in quite a while, and he’s starting to think it’s safe to call Bucky a friend. It’s nice.

It’s really nice.

* * *  
And then it all goes to shit the day Steve bounces up to them like an overeager Labrador and announces that Sharon’s pregnant. And just like that, Sam watches Bucky’s face shutter as he retreats back into himself. He slips away sometime during Steve talking about how exciting the news is, and Sam doesn’t see him for the rest of the day.

Sam spends the next three Sundays getting coffee solo.  
* * *  
It’s on the fourth Sunday at ass o’clock in the morning when things change. 

After Sam puts in his order he makes his way to their usual table only to find someone else is already sitting at it.

It’s not Bucky.

Sam does a one-eighty and orders three triple shot espressos and about two dozen pastries before heading back with his haul. He sets the espresso and four of the pastries down with a thunk and puts on his Disapproving Therapist Stare until there’s a long-suffering sigh and a hand reaches out to take the espresso. 

Steve looks like shit, and considering Sam saw him just a few days ago, he’s not sure how he could have missed it. There’s dark rings of purple underscoring his bloodshot eyes, and the pulled up hoodie and three day old stubble certainly isn’t doing him any favors. And then Sam remembers for all that Steve Rogers is a terrible liar, Captain America is an icon, and icons don’t show vulnerability. It’s too human, a display of weakness that doesn’t belongs on posters or television screens.

And right now it’s not Captain America sitting across from him; it’s Steve Rogers, and Steve is more human than anyone. Reckless idiot, stubborn little shit, Sam’s best friend. And right now it looks like his best friend really needs him. So Sam leans forward and shoves a donut in Steve’s hand before reclining in his seat.

“I didn’t think you knew this place.”

“Buck mentioned it a few times.” Steve’s voice sounds like it’s been raked over gravel. “Neither of us sleep much, so I always hear him when he leaves. Usually he walks around the city, but he said he’s been coming here with you.” He picks up the still steaming espresso and downs it in one go. Sam winces, because _ow._ “He doesn’t stay at home much anymore. I was hoping he’d be here with you so we could talk. He’s been avoiding me for almost a month now and I don’t--” Steve swallows roughly, “I don’t know what I did to make him hate me.” 

Sam sighs wearily, because _dammit Barnes,_ this isn’t his piece to say. “He doesn’t hate you, Steve. You’re his best friend. He’s just going through some stuff right now.”

Steve gives a curt nod, lips twisting. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what?”

“It’s really not my place to talk about it,” Sam says apologetically. “You haven’t seen him at all to try asking about it?”

“Just for a few minutes at a time, and every time I ask what’s bothering him he just shuts down.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I think Sharon knows something, but she won’t tell me what. Just that I really need talk to him.”

Sam blinks, because that’s a surprise. Especially when Sharon seems so accepting, if she’s encouraging Steve to start a conversation.

“How is Sharon anyway?” he asks casually, and Sam is _absolutely_ not fishing for information, he’s just asking how a friend’s doing.

Steve’s lips quirk into a tiny semblance of a smile. “Great. She keeps complaining about how fat she’s going to get, but she’s glowing. She’s gonna make a great mom.”

Sam nods, smiling softly. “Guess you’re pretty excited, huh?”

Steve shrugs awkwardly, fiddling with his espresso cup. “I guess? I mean I was ecstatic for her at first, now I’m just nervous. I’m not really good with kids, but Sharon seems to think I’ll manage. Said she wouldn’t have picked me if she didn’t trust me.”

Now Sam arches an eyebrow, because that’s a pretty weird way to put it. “ ‘Picked’ you?” he asks skeptically.

“Oh!” Steve brightens a bit. “I thought you knew. She wants me to be godfather.”

Sam’s pretty sure his jaw hits the table, because _what?_

“Yeah,” Steve continues bashfully, rubbing the side of his neck. “I couldn’t believe it either, but she said she couldn’t think of anyone better. I’m honored, you know?” He looks up and his face morphs into a confused frown. “Sam?”

Oh, that’s right. He’s been gaping like an idiot for the past thirty seconds. Sam shuts his mouth with a click. “Right. Who’s the dad again?”

“Connor,” Steve says slowly, beginning to look concerned. “Her boyfriend? They work together.”

Okay. Well. Looks like he and Bucky are both idiots, assumptions and all that. 

“Huh,” Sam says finally. Then, “Steve? Have you ever talked about Sharon or the baby around Barnes? Or brought her around your place before?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow together. “Yes? Buck’s met her plenty of times. Doesn’t really talk to her though, he’s still not too good around people. I’ve mentioned the baby once or twice, but he just gets really uncomfortable and makes an excuse to leave, so I’ve stopped. Maybe it makes him think about his sisters?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not it,” Sam huffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He plants both palms on the table and takes a breath. “Look man, you know I can’t tell you what Barnes and I talk about. And I’m saying that as his friend, not his therapist.”

Steve blinks. “I know that, I’d never ask you to. I don’t want Buck to feel like he _has_ to tell me anything, I’ll willing to let him take as long as he needs.”

“Good.” Sam breathes out slowly. “Now you and I are gonna talk about some things, okay?”

“Uh, sure?”

Sam rests on his forearms, brown eyes boring into blue. “You don’t have to answer if you feel uncomfortable, but I’ve spent months globetrotting with you trying to find the guy. I know he’s more than your best friend, Steve.”

“That obvious, huh?” Steve jokes weakly, staring down at his hands. “Must be, Sharon figured it out too. Probably Natasha, though she hasn’t said anything to me yet.”

“You loved him since you were a kid,” Sam says softly. “Did he know?”

Steve’s expression turns rueful. “I don’t think so. There were a few times, between us. Before the war. We never talked about it, and Buck still tried to set me up on dates. And then during the war--” He breaks off, as though bracing himself for whatever comes next. “We were at a bar with the Commandos one night, and Peggy showed up. We talked for awhile, and after she left,” his breath hitches “Buck got pretty drunk. Completely sauced, actually. After we left, we took a shortcut through some back alley, and he kissed me. Kept rambling on about how he lost his shot, was going to lose me. Then he started cracking jokes about how Peg and I would have some fine looking kids and he’d get to be Uncle Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are wet by now. “I tried asking him about it the next day, but he said he couldn’t remember anything. I figured we’d get a chance to talk about it later. Then the train happened.”

Sam reaches across the table to give Steve’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You should talk to him now.”

“And say what, Sam?” Steve tosses his hands up, narrowly avoiding the pastry plate. “He won’t even stay in the same room as me. I don’t know if he even remembers, or if he feels that way still.”

“Anything. Everything. Maybe start out with something small to break the ice.” Sam stabs a fork into a raspberry strudel with far more aggression than necessary, mostly to prevent himself from winking like a tool to emphasis his point. “Like about Sharon making you godfather, for instance.”

“He doesn’t know either?” Steve scrunches up his nose. “Everyone else does. Where have you guys been for the past few weeks?”

“Well,” Sam says evenly, gutting the strudel, “It’s not like you told us. You just came running over and said she was expecting.” He blinks rapidly, praying to whatever deity exists that Steve’s able to put two and two together. He takes confidentiality seriously, and he’s not going to throw Barnes under the bus because his would-be-boyfriend is too dense to figure it out. “You were pretty excited about it.”

If anything, Steve just looks even more confused. Sam decides to switch tactics.

“So Connor’s CIA too? When did they get together? I didn’t even think Sharon was seeing anyone. She’s never mentioned him before.”

“Yeah, it’s been a little over a year now. She didn’t tell me either, I only know because I stopped by her apartment and he was there.”

“That explains why we’ve never heard of the guy,” Sam agrees, nodding sagely. He’s pretty sure he’s doing a decent job at seeming casually curious while Inner Sam is busy screaming at Steve to get with the program. “The only people I ever see her with when she’s not working are you and Nat.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughs a bit, “You know Tony actually thought it was mine?”

Sam nods understandingly, sipping daintily at his mocha before going in for the kill. “I did too, honestly.”

Steve chokes on air. “ _What?_ ”

“Mm.” Sam spears a piece of mutilated strudel. “Like I said, she’s either at work, or with you, or Nat. And I could be mistaken but I don’t think Nat has the proper equipment for that.”

“Oh, Christ.” Steve does a very impressive performance of a face-palm. “How many other people think that then?”

“I’m sure at least a few.” Sam chews his strudel patiently, watching as the gears turn in Steve’s brain. Then--

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve curses, face going alarmingly pale. “Buck thinks I’m with _Sharon?”_  


Sam finishes his strudel, then goes in for a linzer tart. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

It’s as though watching the last puzzle pieces slide into place. Steve’s white-knuckling the table as he puts everything together. “That’s why he avoiding me? Why would that even matter unless--” 

He breaks off, turning to Sam with a look of horror. 

“Again, I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Goddammit!” Steve surges out of his chair, swinging around to eye the clock hanging on the wall.

It’s nearly four a.m.

“Better hurry, sport,” Sam advises, licking powdered sugar off his fingertips. “If you’re lucky you might catch him sneaking back in through the window. And take these.” He shoves two boxes of baked goods into Steve’s arms. “Now get a move on Rogers.”

Steve sprints out of the cafe, pastries tucked under his arms. Sam tips his coffee after him in a toast. 

“Damn lovesick white boys.”

* * *  
He doesn’t hear from Steve or Barnes until the following week. He’s been busy with the VA and Steve’s probably doing Avenger shit, so he decides demanding information about his friends’ love lives will keep for now.

Sam walks into the coffee shop at ass o’clock in the morning, orders a raspberry coffee with biscotti and a maple Danish and waits at the usual table. He gives up after two hours of no visible super-soldier sightings, and heads home. He fires off a text to Barnes before crawling back into bed for an extra few hours of shuteye.

He wakes up at nine to his phone buzzing with an incoming message. Knuckling the sleep from his eyes, he drags the device off the bedside table and thumbs open the lock screen.

**Sam:** You stood me up

**Barnes:** Got mauled by a bear. Rain-check next wk?

Attached is a picture of Barnes’s bare, scratched up chest. The rest of his body is obscured by a set of shoulders and a metal hand stroking a blond head. Sam rolls his eyes and replies before tossing his phone back on the nightstand and burrowing back into his blanket burrito.

**Sam:** Yeah, next week. Congrats btw. Remember to be safe kids.

**Author's Note:**

> Come stalk me on [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/edible-crayon)


End file.
